Darkness Beyond Twilight
by Sword Lily
Summary: In the aftermath of Ragnarok, the valkyrie Lenneth faces the challenge of restoring order to the nine worlds.
1. The Forgotten Valkyrie

Title: Darkness Beyond Twilight

Author: Sword Lily

Rating: PG-13

Summary: In the aftermath of Ragnarok, the valkyrie Lenneth faces the challenge of restoring order to the nine worlds. 

Obligatory Disclaimer: Valkyrie Profile is a trademark and Enix is a registered trademark of Enix Corporation. © 2000 Tri-Ace Inc./ PRODUCTION I.G./ Actac Inc./ Enix. All Valkyrie Profile characters and settings are used without permission. Story content belongs to me. Contains Teh Spoilers, Teh Language, Teh Violence, and Teh Adult Situations. 

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I – The Forgotten Valkyrie

The stained glass panes of the oriel in her room had been smashed out long ago. The velvet curtains swayed slightly in the breeze that wafted in, their color now weathered from the original deep crimson to a dusky rose. Silmeria liked to feel the wind on her face. It reminded her of a time when she still had wings. That had been ages ago. Before her fall. Before she became a prisoner in the castle of the vampire king, locked away from the gods she was sworn to serve and from her duty as a chooser of the slain. Sometimes she thought she could still hear the souls of men crying out to her in their dying moments, but more and more it seemed just a dream. The idle fantasy of a former death goddess.

Her room was large and luxuriously furnished. Brahms had seen to her every comfort, here in the castle that drifted in and out of Midgard like some lost soul. The walls that confined her were of the same fine gray marble as the rest of the castle, but the ceiling was painted to look like the dawn sky. A bright, false sun peered down at her through clouds tinted orange and pink. She could never truly see the day outside. The castle only appeared in Midgard at dusk and vanished into ether as dawn broke. 

The floor was covered in fine rugs, worn from years of endless pacing. The canopied bed was crafted of fine dark wood, masterfully carved and covered in a bright chaos of pillows. There was a well-appointed wardrobe of fine ladies' clothes. Velvets from Artolia, silks from Hai Lan, lace from Gerabellum. The wardrobe itself had come from Hai Lan, sleek black lacquer with a mountain landscape inset in iridescent shell. 

There was a vase of rare blue flowers from Flenceburg on the dresser, filling the room with a scent like strong perfume. Ivory-handled hair brushes and combs littered the dresser. A cracked and dusty mirror hung on the wall above them. Graceful sea serpents with blue jewels for eyes twined about its frame, exquisitely wrought and gilded. A clockwork bird, metal feathers of silver and bronze, sat motionless on a perch nearby. She had listened to its song incessantly until she'd accidentally wound it too much. It was broken and silent, but still beautiful and rare. She had no idea where it might have come from. 

Sometimes she sang, as if playing the proper part of a caged bird herself. She could still remember nearly all of the bawdy drinking songs sung by Einherjar as they partook of the ever-flowing mead of Valhalla. She missed the cheerful ruckus of Odin's great hall. She would smile and joke with the Einherjar and keep the mead flowing for them, and for herself as well. She could drink any one of them under the table. It was unfortunate that the vampire king had lost his taste for wine long ago, and had no need to keep an adequate supply.

Soon the last of light of dusk would be gone and she would see the stars of Midgard appear in the sky. Soon Brahms would come to her, as he did this time every night since she had been captured. Until then, she stood at her window brushing her hair. Sometimes she spent all day brushing her hair for lack of anything else to do. Bound loosely at the nape of her neck with a ribbon of red silk, it fell in a golden cascade over her shoulders and down to the backs of her knees. Toward the ends it fell into soft waves from being kept in a braid during the day while she slept. The boar hair bristles slipped through her hair as easily as if it were liquid.

She wore a robe in the style of Hai Lan, a busy cherry blossom pattern against a red background. It closed low and opened high. She could never get the hang of tying it properly. The belt rested in a large clumsy knot by her hip, the ends trailing and fluttering around her legs as she moved, rather than in a tidy knot at the small of her back like it was intended to be worn. Like on the robes of the tiny pearl women on her wardrobe, standing at the foot of the sinuous mountain path, carrying parasols on their way to the pearl tea house. She had never worn such things in Asgard, but she liked the feel of silk against her skin. She could barely remember what it was like to feel her sword in her hands and the weight of her armor on her shoulders.

The slippers she wore were delicate satin with golden pheasants embroidered on them. A strip of leather was tied around her left ankle. It trailed and snaked around the room, its other end attached to a heavy mithril ring set into the floor. She imagined her bonds must be made from the skin of a dragon or frost giant, because anything else she could have broken. Nor would the knot loosen, despite her many efforts. It would take a god-made blade or a miracle to break it. 

Her blade had been taken from her long ago, and all her hopes for a miracle had been lost quite recently. She knew that Hrist had come for her and failed. Sometimes she had entertained fantasies of the dark valkyrie bursting suddenly through her door, vampire blood dripping from her sword. Sometimes her dream ended with Odin looking down on her with a merciful eye from his throne, and sometimes her blood mingled with Brahms's on Hrist's sword. Either fate was one she would gladly accept, to be rescued and returned to Asgard or to be punished for her failure. Ironically, the dreams were even more vivid now that rescue was an impossibility. Brahms had gently informed her that he had shattered Hrist's soul without much effort at all. That was the last time in a long while that she had tried to physically injure him, and he had merely swatted her away like an insect. She never expected to hurt him, but it did make her feel better somehow.

Silmeria had grieved for Hrist, and for her own inability to avenge her. She was the weakest of the three valkyries, and it was foolish of Hrist to make such a sacrifice on her behalf. Surely the Aesir had no need as of such a powerless goddess as herself. Her thoughts turned often to the Aesir lately. She knew that the time for Ragnarok was nigh, and often worried how they would fare in the battle to end all. She had once been one of three whose purpose was to gather souls to fight in the final days of the gods. She had passed above the battlefields, the cries of the dead and dying ringing in her ears, appearing to those who died valiantly. Some men had wept upon seeing her, such an honor it was. Until her orders changed, and she was given the task of destroying the walking dead and ridding Midgard of their accursed presence. It did not end well, as her current situation attested.

The first stars of the evening were appearing. It was only now that the castle's denizens would wake. 

She set her brush aside when she heard the door of her room open, when she heard the familiar voice, deep and rasping. "Are you well, Silmeria?" It could be no other than Brahms, the keeper of the castle, and of her.

She stood as still and silent as a statue as he approached her, looking at her with the livid red eyes that had so unnerved her when she first saw him. He was a huge, hulking brute who took as much care of his appearance as can be expected from one who'd long ceased to care how the world judged him. The old and tattered clothes he habitually wore were a stark contrast to the confections of silk and lace he'd provided her with after he stripped her of her armor. His rough features and the unnatural gray cast of his skin gave the impression that he was carved from stone. A great red scar cut across his neck. The scar she'd given him before he tore her golden sword from her hands. 

He extended a powerful arm to offer her a golden chalice. She took it thanklessly and drank. Vampire blood proved to be just as effective at preserving her immortality as the sacred apples of Iduna that she and the other gods had eaten to keep themselves from aging like mortals. She'd refused to eat in the first days of her capture. Eventually her resistance had worn away. Every day she could feel herself growing old, and it frightened her more than the vampire lord that had captured her. She now accepted his hospitality without a thought.

She stared silently down at the last crimson drops in the chalice, at her distorted reflection in the cup. Gold was her color. She tried to remember what her reflection looked like in the surface of her armor when she had polished it until it gleamed like a mirror. "I've been feeling strange lately, Brahms. I suppose a Midgard-dweller might call it homesickness. What news can you tell me of the Aesir?"

The vampire lord reached a great clawed hand out to stroke her hair. Brahms looked at her with what might have been pity, or love, if he was capable of such emotions. She had grown accustomed to that too. "Silmeria . . . Ragnarok has . . ."

She looked at him as if she'd just been run through with a spear. Her voice shook when it came to her. "No. It can't . . . It can't be. . . I—"

He spoke again, slowly. "The Aesir have—"

"NO!" Her scream was loud enough that Brahms imagined it could be heard throughout the entire castle. He moved his head slightly when she flung the chalice at him, letting it sail harmlessly over his shoulder. He heard it glance off the wall behind him and roll quite a ways on the floor before it came to stop. And to think some called her the most gentle of the three Valkyries. This was true, of course, compared to ice-hearted Lenneth and fierce, relentless Hrist. 

Brahms had become well accustomed to Silmeria's occasional fits of rage. He usually suffered no more than the occasional sharp comment borne from ennui, but sometimes he gave her cause to be truly upset. He did not mind if she was angry with him; in truth it was her wistful gazing out of her window that truly pained him. He stepped close to her and clamped his hands around her slender shoulders. Her skin was lily pale from shock.

"The Aesir and Vanir are no more. The doom of the gods has come to pass." His voice came out much more cold and harsh than he'd intended. Silmeria refused to look at him. She turned her head so that her golden hair fell in a curtain over her eyes. As if she would shed tears over lost loved ones like a woman of Midgard.

"My place was in Asgard, in Ragnarok. Odin. Freya. Tyr. Thor. Vidar. Ull. Frei. I should have died. That was . . ." Silmeria's voice was choked and frail. 

"Your fate?" Brahms's face pulled into a small, rare smile.

"The purpose of my existence."

"It is never so simple. Now you are free to choose your own purpose. Live, Silmeria."

She turned her face to meet his. "What are you saying?"

"If I hadn't kept you hear you'd be as dead as those you once served. Ragnarok is over, and you are still alive." He bent down and picked up the slender band of leather that led to Silmeria's ankle, the tie that had bound her to him for ages. "I have no more reason to keep you here." It snapped like fine thread in his hands. "You may leave if you wish." He rose, and reached out to caress her cheek. "Or you may stay with me."

Silmeria pushed his arm roughly away and stepped back from him. "That can never be, Brahms." Her voice seethed with anger. "I have no wish to live without the All-Father."

Brahms laughed at that. Silmeria turned and looked at him strangely. "The world has not been left so deprived," he said. " Valkyrie Lenneth is the All-father now."

Silmeria had to steady herself against the wall. "Have the Norns gone mad?" She spoke now in the barest of whispers, full of disbelief, bitterness, fear. "Lenneth . . . how could she? How could she dare assume such power. Hrist would never. . ."

"Hrist had no part in Ragnarok."

" . . . So all three of us failed." Silmeria was stunned by it all. She did not delude herself that she could have saved Odin if she had been there at his side during the battle as she should have. He was fated to die. He knew this. That's why he created the valkyries to gather the souls of heroes to join him in his final battle. Not to win, of course, but to go out in a blaze of glory. To die with him. To take all of their adversaries with them. That was their fate. Only a few were fated to survive Ragnarok. But not the valkyries, the shield maidens of Odin. No one had foretold such a thing.

Hrist would have gladly given her life in battle against Odin's enemies. She knew her place and her purpose without a doubt. Silmeria had always admired her bravery. If only Hrist had saved her. They could have died valiantly together alongside the All-Father. Now she was left with no purpose. Nothing except the shame for failing. But Lenneth? "How is it possible that Lenneth would do such a thing?" Silmeria fairly shouted. "She was a valkyrie, same as I."

Brahms had dreaded this question, for he was unsure that he truly knew the answer. He was privy to great, clandestine knowledge, for his servants were everywhere, silent as the shadows. There were few things that happened beneath the cloak of darkness that he was unaware of. But although he had played a part in the complicated string of events that led to the events of Ragnarok, it involved powers far beyond his understanding. "Trust the humans to meddle in such things. Hrist shattered her soul, but with the aid of forbidden magics she gained a new form. This allowed her to expand her powers beyond anyone's hope." He answered her as best he could.

"Forbidden magics? What human dare meddle in the destiny of the gods themselves?" Had Lenneth really betrayed the Aesir by using magic to usurp Odin's power? If Hrist had been sent to replace her, it must have been for a good cause. 

"Lezard Valeth. He was one of the human souls who helped me defeat Hrist." 

Silmeria had never heard the name. She suddenly felt painfully ignorant, having been away from the world for so long. It was so much to comprehend. " . . . It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Did anything at all happen according to the prophecy? What will become of Asgard now? This is chaos . . . "

"Not yet, but perhaps soon."

". . . What do you mean, Brahms?"

"The gods of this new age are weak. Lenneth's Einherjar have no concept of what godhood entails, and I doubt that Lenneth fully understands the powers she has."

"What do you mean? I thought she took the throne of the All-Father. Who would defy her?"

Brahms's expression darkened. "Hel's servants are still abroad in Midgard."

"So Hel has cheated her fate as well?" Silmeria suddenly realized that Brahms was truly worried. Of all the gods, Hel detested the undead most of all. Any soul unclaimed by another god that somehow escaped an eternity in her domain was an affront to her power. It had been because of her pleas to Odin that he had sent Silmeria to destroy them, and later Hrist. She had petitioned to send her own minions, but the other gods had been loathe to let her unleash her demons in Midgard.

"If she's half as clever as her father, I would not doubt it at all. She is accustomed to reaching her influence beyond Niflheim. Ragnarok has not changed that."

"I like it not. If the other gods must accept their place in Niflheim, so must she. She of all should know that. This must not be allowed." 

"I agree. This might be our only chance to be rid of her for all time."

"What do you mean . . . _our_?"

"Once Hel is gone, then my kind can be at peace. I've stayed out of her grasp for this long. I have no intention of falling into her clutches now."

"That may be, but it is not my concern. You may do as you wish. I have no right to interfere."

"Not sure what to do with yourself now that your precious Aesir aren't pulling your strings?"

Silmeria's eyes flashed with a fire that he hadn't seen since before he her defeat long ago. "Bring me my armor, Brahms! I am still a valkyrie. And it is my duty to serve the All-Father."

~ to be continued


	2. The New AllFather

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II – The New All-Father

The mighty tower of Hlidskialf overlooked the nine worlds, now quiet in the wake of Ragnarok. Within its topless walls, Lenneth the valkyrie sat uneasily in the throne of the All-Father. Lucian's gentle smile gave her a small measure of comfort. He stood at her side, where Freya had once stood before Odin.

Freya. Lenneth recalled her summons here, a seeming eternity ago. When she was given her assignment to descend to Midgard to gather Einherjar. Freya had greeted her with uncharacteristic warmth. Odin had looked calm and regal, even as he spoke of Ragnarok. Of his own death. He had already resigned himself to his fate, much like Lenneth had in that uncomplicated time. She had never expected her return to Valhalla to be under these circumstances, her Einherjar gathered before her, still lauding her victory over Loki. 

Loki. If not for her own memories of the battle, and for the marks of her sword upon his fallen form, she never would have believed her Einherjar when they gathered around her and told her she had won. When Lucian appeared before her and embraced her, filling her with feelings of love and hope that she had never known as a death goddess. It was truly a miracle. She had harnessed powers greater than any she'd ever dreamed to possess. Powers that no mere valkyrie rightfully should. 

Lenneth was a mere valkyrie no longer. She had taken the place of the All-Father, and the duty now fell to her to create a new order in Asgard. Now it was her hope that she and the new gods gathered before her would have the strength to rule the nine worlds as those before her had, and to show them benevolence and justice that they had not.

She did not grieve for the lost gods. They had used her as a pawn and ordered her destruction when she began to discover the vestiges of free will hidden deep within her. But she understood why they had done so, for she had indeed rebelled as they had feared. And a part of her was consumed with pity that they had not been able to escape the doom of Ragnarok as she had. Odin. Freya. Frei. She would miss them, for they were truly more kind to her than her human family. She had considered Odin her father, and the siblings had treated her with more affection than they ever expressed for each other. But for some reason she did not feel their loss with any pain near what she had experienced when she learned that Lucian had been slain by Loki.

As far as Lenneth knew, she and her Einherjar were now the only remaining souls in Asgard now that the prophesied doom of the gods had come to pass. She had sent those who had accompanied her in battle to look for any survivors of Ragnarok, but they had found nothing in the wastes of the Vigrid plain. The responsibility of restoring order to the chaos of the nine now-godless world now fell to her, and she felt its weight upon her. A fleeting thought shot through the back of her mind like a comet---to take human form again and return to Midgard with Lucian. But she knew that could never be. It was now her duty to rule as the All-Mother. 

She looked upon her Einherjar, now the new gods of Asgard. They were a diverse lot, gathered from all parts of the world. Some were not even human. She had chosen them as heroes, and they had all suffered for her and for Odin. But there seemed to be so very few of them compared to the number of gods before. At least they looked to be in good spirits. She wondered if it was for her sake.

Near the front of the crowd of Einherjar, Yumei whispered to Aelia, who stood near, "Lady Valkyrie looks upset. Do you think we ought to try to cheer her up?" The young mermaid's eyes were full of concern for the valkyrie. She remembered her mother, how sad she had been and how important it was to always be well-behaved and cheerful, so as not to make her any sadder. Now she looked at Lady Valkyrie as her mother. But she wondered if she could really bring the All-Mother any comfort, even though she'd always managed somehow to make her own mother smile.

"Yeah, Lucian isn't doing his job," Aelia snorted derisively at the young swordsman, Lenneth's consort. She didn't pretend to understand what the valkyrie saw in him. He couldn't possibly understand what she was going through. How could he be of any use to her at all? Aelia had long held the opinion that all a woman needs is herself, and occasionally a large weapon.

"Maybe I should give it a try." 

Aelia turned to see one of the few men she'd ever called a friend smirking behind her. "Very funny, Kashell." She gave him her most practiced glare. 

He'd only been half-serious. Kashell understood why Lucian had fallen for her, of course. He himself had always been partial to a woman who was good with a sword. He'd known some amazing ones in his time, most of whom were here now with him. But one wasn't. Maybe never would be. He tried not to think about it too much. It was better to keep his spirits up and make the best of present company. He knew Aelia wasn't interested in him, but he did enjoy ruffling her feathers. "I suppose you could do better?" 

"Maybe I could!" she snapped back at him. 

For all his jesting, Kashell had a sneaking suspicion that Aelia might empathize with him more than he was comfortable with. 

From the back of the crowd, Badrach pushed his way through the press of his fellow Einherjar. He 'accidentally' brushed his hands against some of the women, ducking out of the way before they could respond. "Where's the babes?" he shouted over the noise of everyone else's conversations. "I heard that Valhalla was full of hot chicks with big titties and more booze than you can drink in an eternity!" 

"Shut up, Badrach!" Jayle shouted back at the brigand, who she and many others considered to be the epitome of repugnance. He made sure to pinch her on the rear as he slipped by her. When she spun around to seek the offender she saw only Lawfer, who blinked innocently and cringed back from her, thoroughly confused. 

Badrach had insinuated himself between Belenus and Llewellyn, an arm around each in a gesture of constrained camaraderie. "I say we all get shit-faced! Who's with me?" 

Llewellyn looked as if he wanted to flee. Belenus merely shook his head disparagingly, wishing that the valkyrie had been more selective in her choice of minions. 

"Man, you guys should really loosen up. You're almost as uptight as Lady Valkyrie!" Badrach shouted, breaking away from the two killjoys. "We won! We should be partying! Where's the beer?" He leered at back at Jayle. "I bet you'd make a cute serving wench."

Jayle's hand twitched near the hilt of her sword.

"Listen well, my noble Einherjar." Lenneth stood suddenly, raising a hand to command the attention of the boisterous crowd. She paused until they were satisfactorily silent. "We are all the gods that are left in Asgard. By fighting beside me you have each earned your place here. I thank you all." Her eyes drifted across the faces of her chosen warriors. She had come to see then now as her allies and friends. Her thoughts turned to Arngrim and Mystina in particular, who had gone far above and beyond the call of duty in order to save her. 

Arngrim stood well over those around him, and the hilt of his sword behind his shoulder stood higher still. He was not an easy man to miss. But Mystina she did not see. She decided to inquire about her whereabouts later. Perhaps one of the other Einherjar would know where she had gone. She wished to thank them both personally, for if not for them she would not be standing now before the throne of the All-Father. Odin and Freya had deemed the two of them unacceptable, unworthy of fighting alongside the old gods of Asgard, but no one would deny them their rightful place in Valhalla now. But this was a matter for another time. For now she had more pressing concerns.

"But we must not forget that we now hold the stewardship of the nine worlds," Lenneth continued. "And it now falls to us to carry out the responsibilities of those who came before. First I must call on one of you to care for the apple tree of Iduna. If it is allowed to wither and die, so shall we, for its fruit sustains the eternal youth of the gods."

A torrent of low muttering filled the chamber. None of the Einherjar seemed particularly enthused at the prospect of spending eternity caring for a tree, and some had visibly cringed at the first mention of responsibility. Lenneth quickly felt herself growing despondent. She supposed it took a special kind of patience for that kind of care, and she had not chosen her warriors for their patience. Perhaps they were all unfit for the tasks that lay ahead.

Slowly, Nanami, the young Hai Lan shrine maiden, made her way to the front of the crowd. She walked slowly in small steps, her eyes never leaving the floor as she bowed deeply before her. "Honorable valkyrie, I will do my best to care for the tree if you would deem me worthy of this task." Her voice was meek, and so very young. 

Lenneth looked on the shrine maiden. Freya had informed her that when she'd sent her to Valhalla, Nanami had taken to cleaning the great hall. She smiled. Nanami was almost too perfect for the job. "Rise, Nanami. I could think of none better than you to entrust with the tree. I know that Iduna would approve of you."

Nanami let her eyes stray upward for a brief, shy moment. There was a look of genuine gratitude there. Valkyrie found herself wishing that Nanami would find happiness and purpose in her life, instead of the sorrow that her human life had been filled with. She had taken her adopted sister's place as a priestess training, and ultimately sacrificed herself for her sake. What happiness had it brought her? Did she need to serve others in order to have any kind of self-worth? 

In many ways she admired Nanami's strength. At least she had seemed content with that life. Lenneth herself had once only been judged by how well she had served others, and fated to sacrifice herself for the sake of those she served. She could not understand how anyone could truly be happy in that situation.

Lenneth broke away from her thoughts and returned her focus to the next issue. "Now we must think of Alfheim, the realm of the guardians of the world tree, once ruled by Frei." 

"Didn't you say that a land full of those cute elves would be paradise, Aelia?" Kashell playfully nudged her ribs with an elbow.

"Shut up, Kashell!" Her face was flushed as she snapped at him. Kashell suspected she might have been using her dragon charm too often of late, as she appeared to have grown fangs.

"Sounds like it to me!" shouted Badrach. "Let me at 'em!"

"Badrach, if you open your smarmy mouth one more time I'm going to shove my spear right up your--!"

"Would you accept, Aelia?"

"Huh?" Aelia ceased her impending assault and turned at the sound of Lenneth's voice. Her face was flushed, but she quickly regained her composure. "Uh . . . yeah. Yes, I would. Heh. Somebody has to protect them from perverts like him. Girls have to stick together, after all."

"But who's going to protect them from perverts like you?"

Aelia punched Kashell in the stomach so hard that he doubled over, gasping for breath. He looked as if he was actually about to cry.

"You've gotten so soft since our last duel that a girl can whip you, Kashell?"

Everyone turned as the great doors of behind them swung opened. In stepped a tall, raven-haired man familiar to the valkyrie and any Einherjar that she had sent to Asgard.

"Vidar?" Kashell could barely believe his eyes. It was the god that had challenged him to a friendly duel and bested him. At the time he had acted like it was nothing, but he still bore some of the bruises. 

"You. You're alive!" Lenneth knew Vidar as the son of Odin, and the god of revenge. He was said to be the second strongest of all the gods. She wondered ominously what the significance of his survival might be. The press of Einherjar parted before him, and the steps of his iron-shod boots echoed loudly against the strained silence as he strode towards her. 

"Are you disappointed? I never thought I'd see a valkyrie claim the throne of the All-Father. Perhaps you would have liked to take all of our places." 

"Show some respect!" Lucian growled at Vidar. "Don't talk to her that way!"

So the god of revenge suspected her of betraying his father. Lenneth knew that somehow she must convince him otherwise, or else. "Vidar, that was never my intent. I did not plan for this to happen. You must believe me. It was Loki who killed Odin, not I. I avenged his death. My only wish now is for the nine worlds to be at peace."

"If you hadn't killed him, I would have. Make no mistake about that. But I suppose I can forgive you for stealing my kill." He looked at her intensely, and she realized that he was sizing her up. "However, you'll have to prove to me that you are worthy of taking my father's place. I propose a duel. If you truly are the All-Father, you should have no problem beating me."

That solution was so very Vidar. He loved to duel, as Kashell could attest. Lenneth wondered but for a moment how he would react if she refused him. She knew her fellow gods well enough to know that they respected only power. He would only think her weak, and that would be his confirmation that she was unworthy of Odin's place. Perhaps all of her Einherjar would think so as well. When it came down to it, godhood was merely a matter of power. She shivered, suddenly finding herself thinking back to Lezard and his mad ambitions. 

Would it even matter if she was defeated here? Vidar was one of Odin's strongest sons. He might be better suited to the throne than she, by the laws of patriarchy. But wasn't her presence here proof that it was time for a new order? 

Lenneth rose to her feet and drew the demon sword, Leventine, the most powerful artifact sword in the nine worlds, the sword that had slain gods. She looked at Vidar past the leveled point of the blade, upon which Loki had died. "I accept your challenge, Vidar. But I will only fight till first blood. I've had enough of killing. There are too few of us remaining. We shouldn't be fighting each other." Somehow she knew that her sentiments would be lost on him. 

Vidar drew his own sword and moved into a fighting stance. He was stronger than she was, she was sure of it. He watched her silently, poised to react to whatever move she might make. Eyes full of unnerving patience, like a serpent ready to strike. 

Lenneth had seen what happened to others who suffered that look, but she was not some small animal to be caught by the serpent. She lunged at him with as much determination as she'd ever had in battle. 

As the clash of their swords rang in her ears she realized that she felt more like her old self. When she had ridden over battlefields amidst the warriors, a swirling chaos of blood and metal. That was the true domain of a valkyrie, not sitting idle on a throne. 

Their swords met again and again. She should have been drained from her battle with Loki, but she felt somehow revitalized. She felt like she could take on an entire army of the strongest swordsmen even after she was through with Vidar. On the periphery of her vision she saw the Einherjar cheering for her, but she heard nothing but the clash of blades and the pounding of her own heart. 

With a powerful swing she knocked Vidar's blade away. A second drew a long red line on his cheek. 

Lenneth let her sword fall to the floor as she realized that she had won, and how. She hadn't meant to harm him so. It would have been enough to disarm him. He would have yielded. But she had been carried away with the spirit of battle. 

She looked at Vidar and saw that he looked back at her now with fear in his eyes, but only for a moment. He quickly regained his composure. He drew himself up, sheathed his unbloodied sword, and raised his hand to his face to trace his wound with a finger. He stared at the blood that came away on his hand for a long moment, seeming almost bemused. After a long moment, he turned to her and bowed deeply. "You are the rightful victor, and the rightful All-Father. I, Vidar, son of Odin, pledge to serve you as I served my father."

"Rise, Vidar. You don't need to bow before me. I am thankful that you are still with us. I had ordered my Einherjar to search for survivors, but they found no one."

"I was on the Vigrid plains."

She looked past Vidar, scowling pointedly. "Badrach, that's where I told you to look for survivors."

"Eh heh heh. Woops. I guess I was a little hasty."

Lenneth sighed and turned her attention back to Vidar. "Do you know if there is anyone else left?"

"My brother Vali, Odin's brother Honir, Thor's sons Modi and Magni." 

"That . . . that is all?"

Vidar nodded solemly.

"I will inform them of what has happened, so that they won't misunderstand your presence here. If I may have your leave, my lady?" 

"As you wish."

He waved his farewell to her as he turned to leave, and somehow that nonchalant gesture dispelled the tension between them. As he passed through the crowd of Einherjar he caught Kashell by the arm. He smiled at him. "I believe you owe me another duel. I'll be expecting you in my hall, Vidi. It's usually entirely too peaceful and quiet there for my liking. Feel free to drop by some time if you don't want that ridiculously huge sword of yours to get rusty."

"I'm sure Kashell would never pass up the chance to play with his sword. I bet he can't wait to whip it out for you. But I do think you're too easily impressed if you think it's really all that big. Arngrim over there knows what it really means to overcompensate."

"Aelia!" Kashell hissed at her, looking quite mortified. Aelia gave a satisfied chuckle. Vidar merely raised an eyebrow for a moment before shaking his head and continuing on to the exit.

Lenneth looked at the blood on her sword, the blood of one of her fellow Aesir who she had once served. Was she still one of them? Would they think she was still one of them? She felt slightly euphoric in the aftermath of battle frenzy. It was the valkyrie in her, not the All-Father, that had won that battle. 

She almost wished she would never have to face that side of herself again. It seemed very ironic now that a minor death goddess was the one to survive her fellow Aesir. Should she have been more eager to follow them to Niflheim? The thought of the gods she served lying in rest there reminded her that she still had things to accomplish here. It was her duty to rule in their place, and she had to choose one to rule over the souls of the departed. 

She called for the attention of her minions, who had fallen to talking amongst themselves. "Now I am afraid I must appoint one of you to rule over Niflheim. The ruler of the netherworld has complete control over the domain and all the souls that dwell there, be they man or god. But you must remain there. To take this role is a sentence of self-exile."

If the room had quieted at Valkyrie's call to attention, it was now utter silence. It was understandable that no human would choose to spend their eternity in Niflheim, despite the enormous power the position carried. That's the fate that most spent their lives avoiding.

It was Lorenta's voice that broke the silence, strong and clear. "I will go."

"Lorenta . . ." Lenneth looked with astonishment on the aging sorceress, who still looked as prim and proper as when she had been a university professor in life. Many of the younger sorceresses looked up to her as a mentor. The only exception was Mystina, who seemed to harbor some deep antipathy towards her. 

Lorenta met her gaze, her face set as a stone mask. But her eyes betrayed a sudden upwelling of pain and longing. "I . . . haven't seen my husband in so long." Her usually stern voice was uncharacteristically soft.

Lenneth looked away from Lorenta, unable to face the pain in her eyes. She remembered the man who had been sacrificed alongside her by the mad necromancer. He was the victim of foul arts, and not a warrior spirit worthy of being chosen to become an Einherjar. But in Lorenta she had seen great strength of spirit. She would make a good ruler. 

Lezard had chosen the two of them because they had experienced a bond that no young couple could share. She hadn't pondered it at the time, distracted with her duties. He had seemed just a mad dabbler of no consequence at the time. And a lifetime of human emotion seemed but a fleeting, trifling thing to her. But perhaps she couldn't understand it because she'd never felt it herself. She looked at Lucian. Could she truly say she loved him? Could such a bond grow between a man and a goddess? She hadn't thought so once. Perhaps the maniac knew more than she'd realized. It was best to put such thoughts out of her head. Truths about the nature of love couldn't possibly come from the mouth of a madman. 

"Very well, Lorenta," said Lenneth. "I shall send you--" 

Yumei jumped up above the crowd, waving her arms. "Excuse me, Lady Valkyrie! Lady Valkyrie! I'd like to go too!"

"But Yumei. . . why?" Lenneth found herself at a loss for words in her surprise. The gray realm of the dead seemed no place for such a girl as she.

Yumei shoved her way through the crowd and dashed towards her. "I beg you, Lady Valkyrie. You promised me I'd get to see my parents again." 

Lenneth bowed her head. "So be it. I shall send the two of you--"

"The girl is not the only one who has loved ones trapped in Niflheim." This time it was the rough, stoic voice of Grey that carried over the crowd. "I never felt I was worthy to be here. Let me carry out my fate among the damned." 

Of all the Einherjar she'd chosen, Lenneth suspected that he resented her most of all for forcing him to continue his existence. Once during his lifetime one of his companions had given her soul to save him in the ritual of soul transfer, and Grey had never forgiven himself for it. For him the gift of life meant nothing but sorrow. 

"If that is truly your wish."

"It is." His voice was devoid of emotion of any kind. As barren as the steel that covered his face.

"Then so be it. Then the three of you will descend to Niflheim."

A sudden keening moan startled them all. The Einherjar parted in a circle around Lyseria, who seemed to be in the throes of some sort of fit. She had fallen to her knees, her white, shaking hands tearing at her hair, which covered her face like a veil. 

Lenneth approached her slowly, for fear of startling her. When Lyseria raised her face towards her, she saw that her eyes were wild, and her lips trembled. She looked as if she couldn't say anything for fear of bursting into tears or screams. She began to try to crawl unsteadily towards her. Jun, who was closest, tried to help her to her feet. She was as limp in his arms as a rag doll.

"A vision. A vision for you, Lady Valkyrie." Lyseria's voice was frantic and erratic. Her eyes were now squeezed shut. Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead. Stringy, disheveled strands of hair stuck to her face. She clung onto Jun's arm with what little strength she had as he led her towards the All-Mother. 

Jun could not help but remember his blind sister, Ai. He had been accustomed to leading his sister in such a manner after she had lost her eyes. Now he led a sorceress gifted and cursed with sight beyond sight. Was this kind of sight a more torturous curse than having none at all? He wondered if his sister would pine so much for her vision if it brought her pain, for surely this woman would not grieve if her sight was stripped from her. 

Lucian rushed to help Jun with Lyseria. He gave her his arm to help her support herself, concern filling his eyes while he whispered some reassuring words to her. But the tortured prophetess seemed to take no notice of him. Her eyes were fixed on some distant point. Her mind and her eyes were elsewhere. 

Lyseria lurched away from Lucian and Jun when Lenneth approached. She fell upon the All-Mother, her hands clawing at her pauldrons. Lenneth put her hands on Lyseria's shoulders, half a supporting gesture and half to keep her at a distance. Lyseria's face was unnervingly close to hers, and she saw her eyes swiveling frantically in their sockets. Lyseria leaned heavily upon her, craning her neck to speak in Lenneth's ear.

"He will come again." Her voice was quavering. Her breath came in short, hot gasps.

Lenneth was almost afraid to meet Lyseria's fevered eyes. "Who?" She spoke more sharply than she intended. 

Lyseria drew several breaths before she spoke again. "God of mercy, slain by the blind. He will come again."

"She must be speaking of . . . Balder." 

"He will come, and bring a golden age of peace and love. After twilight, beyond the darkness . . .comes the dawn." 

Lenneth waited for Lyseria to continue, but she said nothing more. She simply closed her eyes and pushed away from her. She would have fallen, but Lucian caught her. 

"If this is what a pleasant vision does to her, I'd hate to see what the bad ones are like," said Lucian as he handed her over to Jun.

Lenneth found her own voice unsteady when she spoke. "Einherjar, I would ask now that you leave me to ponder the meaning of Lyseria's prophecy. You may now commence with the celebration of our victory that you've been waiting for. You deserve your fun."

Lenneth fell back into her throne and watched her chosen warriors file out of the great doors until the hall was empty save for herself and Lucian, who had chosen to remain at her side.

"You're not going with them?"

He smiled at her sweetly. So very sweetly. "My place is here beside you."

She pulled his face to hers and kissed him. When she finally drew away from him, she gave him a long look and sighed. "Thank you."

He seemed to notice her mood and looked at her quizzically. "You're bothered by Lyseria?" 

"I don't think she told me everything. She might not even have understood what she saw. Balder's return is a good omen, but . . ."

"She did seem awfully disturbed."

"I don't know what Balder's return might mean. When he was alive, he never had much power, but he was well-loved by men and the gods. I think in some way, every one of us admired him. Everyone grieved so much when he died . . . except for one, but that's a long story." 

"You mean the brother that killed him?"

"No, not him. Hodor was tricked. He never forgave himself for Balder's death."

"Yeah. I don't see how anyone, man or god, could draw their sword against their own brother."

"Well, actually it was a sprig of holly."

"What?"

"I said it was a long story. . . . But it doesn't matter now. He will rise from Niflheim like everyone wanted, and he'll bring forth a new age of peace and happiness."

"Why do you look so upset?"

"Because . . . if that is his fate . . . then what am I here for?"

"Don't talk like that," Lucian whispered gently as he clasped a reassuring hand over hers. " I'm no expert, but I'd say you did pretty well on your first day on the job."

Lenneth smiled, and was almost able to bring herself to laugh. Somehow Lucian made her forget everything that was troubling her, even though he was a set of troubles all his own. What would the other gods think of her, relying on a human consort?

"Don't worry, Platina. I'll stand by you no matter what."

"That's a charming sentiment."

"I would have killed Vidar today rather than let him hurt you."

"Vidar would have killed you. Your chivalric intentions won't kill any gods who challenge me."

"You're not afraid that someone else might, are you?"

"I don't know, Lucian. I don't know." She knew that the prophecy of Balder's return should have comforted her, but what place was there for a former death goddess in a new age of peace and love? She did not fear rebellion, especially from one so gentle as Balder. It was possible he might not come until long after she'd lost the throne of the All-Father. But she could not stop fight against the human feelings of uncertainty that tore at her. She had lived through the twilight of the gods, but would she live to witness the dawn? 

~ to be continued

Les Bla-Blas d' Auteur

And now for the inane prattle that no one actually reads. My take on the post-Ragnarok universe leans a bit more towards the original mythology than is necessarily implied by the game itself, so just consider it AU if you want to.


	3. Into the Night

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III - Into the Night

As Silmeria adjusted the last strap of her armor, she realized just how unfamiliar the weight of it was on her shoulders. She used to be so accustomed to it that she barely noticed it. Now it dug and pinched and chafed against her. She keenly felt every wrinkle in her clothes that the metal pressed into her skin. Her skirt smelled of dust and was scored with creases from being kept folded in disuse for so long. Her golden greaves felt like weights around her legs. 

She hadn't seen anyone deliver her armor. It had simply been setting at the foot of her bed when she awoke, like any other gift that Brahms chose to bestow upon her.

She wondered if Brahms would see her off, or try to detain her. Somehow she just couldn't imagine walking away from his castle forever. 

It was strange how much she'd grown accustomed to being here. She would miss her room here, the view from her window, all the belongings he'd lavished upon her. As stifling as it was being trapped here, the prospect of freedom scared her more than she wanted to admit. What place did a valkyrie have in the world after Ragnarok? She couldn't even know if Lenneth would welcome her back in Valhalla. She had to find what place in the world was left for her, or make one for herself. 

Or not. The possibility was uncomfortably enticing. She knew it was disgraceful to have such thoughts, but she had lived with disgrace for so long it hardly mattered now. But that would be defying the will of the gods she had once served. And it would mean the abandonment of her duties as a valkyrie, if that meant anything anymore. Silmeria knew that Hrist would never forgive her for even thinking such a thing. 

For her sake, she had to set things right. She wished with all her being that Hrist had saved her. It was her fault that Brahms had slain her. If she had only defeated him herself, she would not have been captured and Hrist would not have been sent to rescue her. Now was her time to atone for past failures. 

Now fully dressed in her golden battle gear, Silmeria put her gauntleted hands to the doors of her chamber, her home, her prison. The intricately inlaid wood was still deeply scarred from her early futile attempts to break out. They swung forward with no resistance. Brahms had dispelled the wards. 

The hallways seemed even more mazelike than she'd remembered them, an endless expanse of pale marble walls hung with rich red velvets. Everything seemed to take on a scale of disproportionate enormity. After seeing nothing but the inside of her cell for so long, she was nearly dizzy. She frequently found herself involuntarily nodding her head from the weight of her helmet. She walked slowly, her eyes drinking in the sights around her. It would be quite pathetic if she managed to get herself lost on her way out. But there was really no hurry. It was just nightfall outside, and she had many hours before the castle would drift back into ethereal space for the day. 

Eventually, she found the room she was looking for. Not the hall leading to the exit, but Brahms's own throne room. 

She found it fortunately empty. As she stepped into the large chamber, memories came flooding back to her of her defeat. He had been sitting in his throne when she encountered him. He had looked at her calmly when she raised her sword to challenge him. She wondered if he had looked at Hrist that same way before he struck her down. 

It was here that she had fallen, and here that the last vestiges of her soul were to be found. 

Silmeria silently prayed that her powers as a death goddess had not failed her, although it seemed a silly thing for a goddess to be praying. She clasped her hands, closed her eyes, and concentrated on Hrist. She remembered her flowing black hair, her dark eyes, the austere expression she wore like a mask. Her voice, shrill as a crow's call. The faint red light that emanated from her sword in battle. And then she saw them, flickering and dancing before her. The shards of Hrist's soul. 

"Hrist, please let me take you from here," Silmeria whispered as she plucked a golden feather from her helm. Hrist should have been the one to walk out of this castle. It seemed a great irony to Silmeria that she would be rescuing the dark valkyrie. This was no place to lay a goddess to rest. Her soul could never be at peace. She had died with a task unfinished, and at the hands of an unholy abomination. 

Silmeria concentrated with all her might, and Hrist's soul was drawn into the feather she held. She then returned it to its place in her helmet. 

She wondered if Brahms would try to stop her now. Surely this was an act of blatant defiance, and taking advantage of his generosity. But if she was going to walk out of the vampire king's life, why should she care if he was angry with her? This had to be done. To leave Hrist here was an act of vilest sacrilege and betrayal. 

If he chose to attack her, she would be defeated, she was sure of it, but it was a risk she had to take. For Hrist. She knew the dark valkyrie would never have left her here if their situations had been reversed. But Hrist would not have submitted to being a vampire's captive either. Silmeria only wished she had that kind of courage. 

This was her time to be strong, her time to be brave. She would return to Valhalla with Hrist, and they would be reunited with Lenneth. It would not be Frei that would greet her when she arrived, and it would be Lenneth she would have to bow to instead of Odin. But Valhalla was the rightful place for a valkyrie, not trapped in a vampire lord's castle. She repeated that to herself like a mantra as she retraced her steps from the throne room to the exit. Retracing the path she had taken when she had come to kill Brahms, so long ago. She knew it well. She would never forget it. She relived that path many times in her captive fancies. Thinking always about what she'd done wrong, how things might have been different.

She didn't see any of the nocturnal denizens of that skulked in the halls of the castle. She remembered having to cut a swath through them during her assault. The place seemed deserted, as cold and lifeless as its dark master. She wondered if Brahms had dismissed them, or if they had fled long ago, or if Hrist had killed them all when she'd come here to rescue her. Or perhaps it had been Lenneth. She sometimes forgot that she had come here too.

When she arrived at the doors leading to the outside world, she stared at them like they would disappear at any moment. She wondered if when she opened them, they would lead back into the room she'd just escaped from. She'd relived that vision many, many times in her dreams. Or Brahms would be waiting to finally kill her after all her years of imprisonment, although that was highly improbable. He could have killed her at any time, why would he do so now? Unless he wanted to torture her first, turn her hope of escape to ashes and snatch freedom from her when she'd gotten just a taste. Or maybe she would fry when the sunlight hit her for the first time. After spending so long in the company of the vampire king, after drinking his blood, maybe her very spirit had been corrupted.

She idly reached up to stroke the enchanted feather in her helm. She would leave here, together with Hrist, and she would find some way to revive her, by whatever means, and they would serve the Aesir together as they always had. That was her fate, so it must be. She was as foolish as Hrist had always said if she were to let herself be confused about this. 

Taking a deep breath and a long step, placing one hand against the door and the other on the hilt of her sword, she pushed the great door open. And despite all the fears and doubts she'd entertained, it did indeed swing forward before her. The nightfall of Midgard welcomed her. 

Her eyes devoured the vast green plains, the dark shadowed hills, the silhouette of jagged distant mountaintops, the streams shining like silver serpents in the moonlight, the tall grasses and white budded flowers that waved sinuously in the breeze. She had seen it all before from the distant height of her oriel, but to step out among the flowers close enough to smell them, to stand in the shadows of the trees filled her with overwhelming reverence for the sheer, stark beauty of the land that she'd never felt before. Asgard itself had never seemed so holy and enchanted. 

To walk again upon Midgard. Surely this must only be a vision after all. It was much more beautiful than she'd remembered. She couldn't really be here. But she felt the breeze on her face, felt it toss her long golden braid, felt it catch the embroidered hem of her skirt. She had never felt so alive in her dreams.

It came to her like a scent on the wind, the sense of an unholy aura of corruption around her. A sense of unbalance, of something here that should not be. It was different than the energy of Brahms's kind, so familiar to her now. This was the stink of the netherworld. There were demons abroad this night.

Flickering pairs of unnatural red lights were closing in all around her. The eyes of defilers of souls. The twisted forms of their bodies were one with the darkness. If she had been a mere mortal soul they would have consumed her before she even noticed. 

It seemed like a new sensation, so long ago was the last time she'd sensed them. Even as it filled her with revulsion at their presence, she rejoiced in the affirmation of her powers.

She wondered if her skills with her sword would work as well. Her golden blade flashed in the moonlight as she tore it from its rune-encrusted scabbard. She screamed as she charged them, and she was answered with a mad howl as a powerful thrust felled her first foe. Black blood sprayed across the grass. 

There were several, but she couldn't see just how many. The place seemed like a sinkhole of evil, so strong was their presence here. She wished she would have had a chance to practice her swordsmanship more. Her sword began to grow heavier with each swing. One by one she cleaved through them, but there seemed to be no end to them.

The Norns were cruel indeed if they had spared her only to meet her end now. Silmeria screamed bloody death at the demons as the old battle rage overcame her. If they came for her soul, she wouldn't give them an easy time of it. She didn't feel their teeth tear at her, or their claws. Nor did she notice how much of her blood mingled with theirs in the windswept grass. 

It wasn't until her sword slipped from her blood-slick hands that she realized how badly she was faring. She had not recalled her battles ever being so taxing, but she was without Einherjar at her side to aid her. She hoped the battle would be over soon.

She braced herself against one that was preparing to jump at her, crossing her gauntlets in front of her face in case it tried to tear out her throat. Her eyes shut involuntarily as the demon lunged at her, red eyes bright and bared teeth flashing. 

But the deathblow never came. She heard a sickening wet crunch, and a howl of pain. But not her own. She forced herself to open her eyes.

Brahms stood before her, his great hands clasping a demon in the throes of its death spasms. He tossed it aside effortlessly. 

Silmeria could only watch as the vampire king dispatched the rest of the unholy horde on her behalf. She had fallen to her knees. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. Her hair clung to her face, wet with blood beneath her helmet. It seemed a great feat of strength just to be able to stand again. 

When the last of Hel's foul monsters had fled or fallen, Brahms went to her and extended his hand to help her to her feet. She did not take it. The pain of her disgrace was too raw. This seemed a final injustice, to be saved by the vampire king. She struggled to her feet without his aid.

"Silmeria . . ."

"I know. You warned me. Do you want me to thank you?" she said coldly as she removed her helmet and smoothed her hair back into place.

"I see you're still in a foul mood. I know you don't want to hear this from me, but you are too weak yet to take on such foes. I did not release you only to see you slain."

"If I die, it is the fate I choose."

"Spoken like a true pawn of the gods."

"Silence! Who are you to speak of the gods?!"

"Hel is behind this. I'd know her work as surely as I know anything. You would be within your rights to seek vengeance against this. Silmeria . . . "

"I'll hear no such talk. I'm done with you, Brahms. Don't ever expect to see me again."

"Not even if you're ordered to kill me?"

Silmeria was no stranger to disgrace, but she'd had enough of it at his hands. Without any further words, she ascended into the night sky.

Brahms watched her until she appeared no more than a golden comet among the stars. It was nearly dawn when he finally retreated into his castle, into his most private chambers, to the inner sanctum of his keep where no one but himself had access to. The room was barren save for an old, worn chair and a portrait covered over with a curtain. It smelled of dust, for he had rarely visited here since Silmeria had come to him. 

Perhaps it had been a mistake to free her, or even to tell her of Ragnarok. Surely it would have been kinder to let her go on unaware of the doom of the gods. But he could not bear to keep her here in such a state. He had lived long enough to know true misery when he saw it. 

He drew aside the curtain covering the portrait on the wall, and looked again upon the joyous face of his old queen. The artist had perfectly captured the golden shine of her hair and crown, the sparkle of her eyes, and the faint flush on her cheeks. She had smiled so much when she was alive.

They had both been quite young when they were wed, and such a rare beauty as she had truly been a blessing, for Brahms had never considered himself a handsome man. He had tried his best to ensure that she was happy. It wasn't difficult, for she was not melancholy by nature. She had been fond of dancing, of cards, of wine, of flowers in the spring, of birdsong in the morning, of the jests of the fool, of gallant courtiers who flattered her. He believed she grew fond of him eventually, for she smiled at him in much the same way she did at anything that brought her joy. And he made himself content with that. In time it truly seemed that they grew to be of one soul. Her delight in the simple joys of life had caused him to grow to love life as well.

All too well. 

Brahms had become no mere vampire. Only the most diabolical of magics could have created one such as he. He never doubted that he had loved her truly, otherwise her sacrifice would have meant nothing. The greater the sacrifice, the greater the power the dark ritual bestowed. And none were more powerful than he. Perhaps not even the Dark Lady herself. The price of his immortality had been his greatest treasure, his beloved queen.

The queen he had seen given new form in a goddess sent to slay him. A valkyrie, bound by fate to fight and die for his oldest enemy. The moment he saw her, he was determined that he would not lose her again. Not to fate, and not to the gods she now served.

Brahms let the curtain fall back into place. He'd had the portrait commissioned only shortly before her death. Even when he had made himself determined to go through with the ritual, he had sensed a part of himself that simply wouldn't abide letting her go. And never would.

~ to be continued

Les Bla-Blas d' Auteur

Anyone who caught the blatant parallels to Robert Browning's "My Last Duchess" gets a cookie. 


	4. Niflheim

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IV - Niflheim

The mists of Niflheim swirled around Yumei's ankles as she descended from the crystal Gioll Bridge. She had run ahead of Lorenta and Grey in her eagerness to see her new realm. The landscape that lay ahead of her made her want to run right back to Asgard.

During her short time on Midgard, Yumei had seen some beaches that were less than pristine, and she had traveled though countless dungeons where foul terrors lurked during her travels with the valkyrie. But nothing could have prepared her for the stomach-churning vileness that was the shores of Niflheim. Not even the dark tower of Xervah had made her so queasy.

The water that churned and crashed against the shore was black and smelled of death itself. She saw contorted, tortured faces in the pale foam of the waves, and she could hear their screams on the wind. The ebb and flow was hypnotic, as if they were all calling out to her to join them. She forced herself to turn her eyes away. 

It was then that she noticed that the beach under her feet wasn't sand at all, but bones crushed to powder. Larger skeletal fragments littered the length of the shore like driftwood. Piles of skulls lay against black, craggy rocks. Far off in the distance she saw the dark, hulking shape of some serpentine monster. It appeared to be eating something, and she didn't care to guess what. From horizon to horizon, everything was dark and gray. There was no color here at all. When Lorenta and Grey finally caught up to her, she wedged herself between them. This was a frightening place, even for a new-made goddess. At least Grey would be at home here. This place seemed to suit his personality perfectly.

Yumei was seriously starting to re-think her choice to come here. Now she understood why Lady Valkyrie had given her such an odd look when she had told her she wanted to go. But her parents were in this land somewhere, and she belonged with them.

With great sadness she remembered the friends she had left behind. Girls her own age, fellow sorceresses, her fellow warriors that she had fought alongside in battle. She was one of them. Jelanda, Nanami, Shiho, Aelia. They hadn't shunned her, cast her out, given her strange looks, thrown stones at her, called her a freak or an abomination. Well, Jelanda had thrown her scepter at her once, but they'd laughed about it afterwards. They had all been so nice to her. And she didn't have to worry about them trying to eat her heart to gain immortality. Even Lyseria was okay when she wasn't being a whiny psycho. She had never had so many friends when she was alive. 

It had been hard, saying goodbye to all of them. She smiled as she remembered hugging Shiho, and then pushing her right into Suo. Her cheeks had turned as red as his armor. She had a good feeling about those two. They'd be all right. 

And then she thought of Lady Valkyrie and Lucian. Yumei's mother had been ostracized for taking a human lover. She wished that Lady Valkyrie wouldn't have to go through the same thing. Vidar had not looked kindly on Lucian at her side. She wished she could think that they were going to be happy together, but she could see the strain between them when they looked at each other. What was it about human men that made everyone who chanced to fall in love with one so miserable?

Yumei looked at Lady Lorenta. She had come to Niflheim to be reunited with her husband. Maybe she'd just found one of the rare good ones. 

She thought she'd met one once herself, but she didn't get to know him long enough to know for sure. Most mermaids just eat sailors after they trick them into rescuing them, but she was glad she let Fuyuki live. He was nice. And on the bright side, she might meet him here one day. The thought, albeit a morbid one, cheered her up considerably. 

"Come. Let us go to Hel's palace," said Lorenta. She'd heard that tone often when Lorenta spoke to her and her fellow sorceresses, especially when they weren't focusing on their spells to her satisfaction. It was a teacher's voice. She realized that Lorenta was looking sternly at her. She must have fallen to dawdling, because they seemed to be waiting for her. She couldn't tell where Grey was looking behind his helmet. She wondered how he could see anything at all. Maybe that was why he seemed so calm here. Not that that was any different from how he normally acted. He had as much personality as any rusty old suit of armor decorating a castle hall. 

Grey had always struck her as being a bit creepy. It was the way he hardly ever talked, and the way sound itself seemed to die around him. Armor should make noise when it moves, shouldn't it? She shivered and moved closer to Lorenta, practically treading on her skirts. Yumei admired how composed she was. Lorenta could be strict and crabby sometimes, but not too bad if you acted like you were actually paying attention to her while she was watching. And she had a sixth sense when it came to knowing when they were giggling behind her back. She did feel sorry for Lorenta's husband, both because he had died horribly, and because Lorenta had probably never let him get away with anything when they were alive together. 

As they made their way to Hel's throne, they passed people who looked as washed out and gray as the landscape. They looked upon the new gods with hollow, disinterested eyes. Yumei searched their desolate faces for ones she might recognize. A couple tried to claw at her clothes when she strayed to near, but she stepped quickly away, nearly running into Grey.

Yumei wasn't sure what she'd expected to find coming here, but somehow she'd pictured it as a bit more pleasant. Even gods went here when they died. You'd think they would have thought to make the place a bit more comfortable.

Eventually they saw no more wandering souls as they drew closer to Hel's throne. Within the sanctum of her private domain, she allowed no one but her own personal servants. This was the realm of those who had been corrupted by her powers. 

The spires of Hel's palace cast their shadows over everything. The glittering black towers twisted upwards like thorny vines until they became indistinguishable from the dark sky, their heights lost among the murky clouds. 

A narrow arcing bridge like a spine connected the palace to the winding path that split the craggy landscape. As they passed over it Yumei saw that the keep's foundation was as endless as its towers. She couldn't see the bottom of the ravine the bridge traversed. It was lost in deep pale mist. 

The myriad windows of the castle stared down at them like the dark, empty eye sockets of so many skulls. Yumei hoped the interior would be more hospitable. She was desperate to get inside. Endless stairs spiraled up the mountain to the gates, which were admittedly not quite as impressive as those of Odin's tower in Asgard. This place was designed to instill a sense of dread, not awe and grandeur. The doors were made of metal, but a black metal unlike any Yumei had ever seen before. It matched the shining black stone of the keep almost perfectly. Their surface was inscribed with tangled webs of intricate silver inlay, the finest craftsmanship of dwarves and dark elves. She pushed against the doors with all of her might, but they wouldn't budge. Grey tried as well, but they still remained stubbornly closed. It was only when Lorenta put her hand to them that they opened, hinges screaming, as if the castle recognized its new mistress, and feared her. 

Yumei followed closely behind Lorenta as she entered the great hall. She found the interior to be no less dark and foreboding than the exterior. The vaulted ceiling reminded her of a ribcage. Tiny blue flames flickered overhead in bone chandeliers. She wondered if the keep was really as deserted as the utter silence indicated. And if as to answer, the shadows began to move.

From the ceiling, from the walls, from every dark place in the hall the denizens of Hel's keep swarmed to greet their new lord. Lorenta ascended the steps of the dais to the great ivory throne and seated herself. 

They seemed uncomfortably familiar. Yumei remembered seeing most of them in her travels with Lady Valkyrie, abominations that had to be killed because they were running amok on Midgard. A plague upon the living souls that could only be cured by divine retribution. 

Lorenta stood and spoke loudly over the teeming swarm. "I am the new ruler of Niflhiem. You shall obey me or be destroyed." 

There was a tense, confused paused as the crowd contemplated her edict. The ones with eyes looked at each other quizzically. The ones with mouths squawked and gibbered at each other. The ones with shoulders shrugged. And eventually, the ones with legs bowed. And the rest fell into silence. 

"From hence forth I forbid you to go upon Midgard. You shall stay here and administer justice to the souls here. You shall be the keepers of a new order. There will be justice for the virtuous and punishment for the wicked. Go now, and await my next summons."

As quickly as they had come, the monstrosities retreated into the shadows. All was still and silent once more. Yumei remembered to breathe again, and released her terrified grip on Grey's gauntlet. She looked around the hall and saw that it was delightfully empty, save for one demon that remained. It was tall and fearsome, great horns crowned its head. She grabbed hold of Grey again as it approached.

It reached out a great, clawed hand towards its new queen. "Llllloooorrrreeentaaaa." Its voice was like metal scraping against rock. 

"Don't be frightened Yumei," Lorenta said calmly. She descended from the throne as if to greet the monster.

Yumei blinked as recognition dawned on her. "Lorenta! Stop! What if he--!"

"He won't."

Yumei knew of Ghoul Powder, and what it did to the body, mind, and soul of its victims. It was one of the vilest tricks of necromancy. No human magic could reverse it. Jelanda had suffered through the gruesome transformation it caused, but her soul had been rescued by Lady Valkyrie. Hel was not so merciful to those who fell into her domain. Those who weren't fortunate enough to be chosen by another god continued out eternity in their corrupted form as one of the army of abominations that the underworld queen called her servants. Those like Lorenta's husband.

But now Lorenta was the underworld queen, and she had complete dominion over the souls of men and demons. And she could be as merciful as she wished.

When she reached up to touch his face, the tall demonic form seemed to melt away until a human man stood in its place. When he fell into Lorenta's arms, all the tears she'd held back during her time as an Einherjar now burst from her eyes. 

Yumei felt tears come to her eyes as well as she watched them. Lorenta held her husband tightly to her in a way that seemed more maternal than anything, and they whispered things to each other through their sobs that she couldn't make out. 

It was a long while before Lorenta and her husband broke away from each other. Lorenta turned to face Yumei and Grey looking as composed and dignified as she ever had, but her face was still red with tears. A few damp strands of hair clung to her face having escaped from the tight topknot that held them back. "Yumei, Grey, this is my husband." She looked tenderly at the middle-aged man that now stood at her side, clasping her hand in his.

"Yeah, I remember you!" piped Yumei. "You turned into a big, gross demon and Lady Valkyrie cut your head off. It was really sad." She paused when she noticed that he suddenly looked extremely uneasy for some reason. "Uh, but I'm really glad you're better now. I guess it's kind of a good thing after all because if you weren't a demon, Lady Lorenta might not have been able to find you here."

Lorenta smiled tightly, stifling a chuckle. "Yes, I guess it was for the best." She looked warmly at her husband, who still looked a bit mortified. 

"Well, I guess I'd better go. I've got people of my own to find. I'm glad I got to meet you," said Yumei.

"You may stay here if you want, Yumei," said Lorenta. 

"No, no. I really appreciate the offer, but my parents are out there somewhere. I want to find them."

"I understand. Grey, go with her."

"As you wish." The first words that Yumei had heard him speak since they'd come here. 

"What?" Yumei shook her head. "But I don't really need anybody to go with me. I'll be fine." She wondered why Lorenta would think she needed a guardian. She had always been alone, and fared for herself quite well. Until she went looking for the Cerulean Lapis, that is. Of course, Lorenta always seemed to insist that she and the other sorceresses lacked discipline in their magical studies. You'd think that after she'd helped Lady Valkyrie kill Bloodbane she would have proven something. But that's a teacher for you.

"Niflheim is hardly a place for a young lady to be traveling alone. If you wish I could appoint one of my new servants to act as your escort instead," Lorenta said sternly.

Yumei was all but forced to concede that protesting was a lost cause. She turned to armored knight. "You don't mind coming with me, Mister Grey?"

"It matters not."

She didn't want to be an imposition on anyone, especially not her friends, if she could consider Grey as such. She consoled herself by reasoning that he could have refused if he had wanted to. Even as much as she thought that having no one but Grey to talk to was some form of underworld torture, she would be grateful for the company. He was at least a step above the big floating, drooling eyeballs.

~ to be continued


	5. Salvation Lies Only In the Damned

V - Salvation Lies Only In the Damned  
  
The necromancer's tower seemed high enough to scrape the clouds. Surely nothing built by the hands of man was meant to intrude into the heavens so. It was downright . . . cocky.  
  
As Silmeria alighted on the roof, it occurred to her that she had no idea what to expect. It had never been her assigned duty to hunt down and slay practitioners of magic abhorrent to the gods, so she had had few dealings with their ilk during her service to the Aesir. Hrist had dealt with most of them long ago, and few since had dared to revive their foul arts. There were always those foolish enough to attempt to harness the forgotten powers of ancient masters. But most learned to keep their heads down or lose them. They were creatures confined to underground catacombs, defiling bodies laid to rest in hallowed ground, or in ancient ruins where the potent magicks of old still remained in effect. Their practice was forbidden in any land that respected the edicts of the gods. Had Midgard changed so much that the kings of men had grown desperate enough to find a use for their foul potions?  
  
But she had no right to judge, if that was the case. It was desperation that brought her here now.  
  
Silmeria reached up to stroke the feather in her helm, as if the gesture could somehow bring her a measure of comfort and reassurance. The necromancer Lezard Valeth had saved Lenneth's soul after Hrist had slain her. He had given her a new body. And now he was her only hope to revive Hrist.  
  
She was keenly aware of how pathetic it was, seeking the aid of a human sorcerer who may or may not be inclined to attempt to destroy her on sight. How low had she truly fallen, that she would trust necromancy over the new gods of Asgard?  
  
At least Lenneth would be in no position to accuse her of misdeeds. Her own had been far worse.  
  
This necromancer had had a hand in all of her treachery. If anyone could answer for her, it was he. She wondered what foul pact Lenneth had made with him, that he would retrieve her soul and invest it in a new body of his own creation. He was not one of Lenneth's Einherjar himself, although he had sided with them in their mutiny against Hrist. Was he was merely a pawn of hers, or a true ally? Either possibility would have been unimaginable long ago.  
  
But Lenneth was no longer the duty-bound servant of the gods she had once been.  
  
Perhaps she had planned all along to seize Odin's throne. Perhaps she had simply gone mad. Silmeria could only speculate about Lenneth's motives. The only thing Silmeria knew for certain was that her sister goddess had defied her role as a Valkyrie. It was possible that Lenneth wanted both her and Hrist dead along with the rest of the gods. Although Lenneth had not directly caused Hrist's death, it was her chosen Einherjar who had turned against a loyal servant of the Aesir. Those same Einherjar would now be by her side as she sat on the throne of the All-Father.  
  
She couldn't go back to Valhalla. Not yet. She would be at the mercy of Lenneth and her minions, and she had never known Lenneth to be a merciful goddess. If it was her fate to make her last stand in Valhalla, she wanted Hrist to be by her side.  
  
Assuming Hrist wouldn't kill her for this first. She would never have approved of this, seeking the promise of forbidden arts. But this was the only hope she had. Even if the warmest reaction she could expect was that familiar angry scowl and a long lecture about consorting with those infernal diabolists. Hrist would tell her to purge those ungodly thoughts from her mind or else. And if she didn't heed her, she would kill her. Hrist's warnings were not to be taken lightly. But Hrist could kill her if she wanted to. Hrist had died for her. If she could succeed in bringing her back into a new body, it was a sacrifice she was prepared to make.  
  
Even if it meant making a pact with a necromancer. She could only hope that her mind would not be corrupted by dealing with him, as Lenneth's had. Silmeria hoped she would find what she needed here. The quicker this unpleasant business over with, the better. But yet she hesitated.  
  
She stood for a while on the roof, almost fearing to affirm the rumors she'd heard. The tower practically glowed with the residual aura of powerful magic, but he might have abandoned it. There were strange stains splattered across the stone. Was it blood? Why did being here give her such chills?   
  
She gazed down at the landscape. It seemed so different than her view from Brahms's castle. She'd had every detail of the land memorized. To see the world again, she couldn't get enough of it. It was a pity that she couldn't see the dawn. The sky was stormy gray, and still dark in the early hours. Thunder crashed all around her and lighting threw her shadow across the stones of the roof. She stood at the very edge of the roof and removed her helmet, tipping her head back to let the rain wash over her face.   
  
It was a promising storm. Thor would have been proud.   
  
Silmeria settled herself on the roof's edge, enjoying the simple pleasure of rainfall on her skin as she swung her legs idly. No, there was no great hurry. He would be here or he wouldn't. That was up to the Norns.   
  
But she grew more uncomfortable by the minute. Such dark energy radiated from this place. She gathered her determination. If she feared to seek out the darkness at its source, she truly was as much of a weak coward as Hrist had always said. She would prove herself a fool for Hrist's sake, but she could not bear to prove herself a coward. This was an insane plan, but these were mad times.   
  
Silmeria rose to her feet and replaced her helmet on her head. She turned towards the door leading into the tower, and started when she saw that she wasn't alone. She took an unconscious step back, which nearly sent her toppling off the edge. As she teetered, trying to regain her balance on the wet stone, her hands went for her sword. "Show yourself! . . . I mean, don't come any closer! . . . Damn it!"   
  
So much for instilling the fear of gods in him. Still she tried to regain a semblance of composure; much good may it do now. She threw her haughtiest glare at the mysterious young man, who simply stood with his arms crossed nonchalantly. His ragged cape flagged in the wind behind him. At least she still remembered what Hrist had told her about dealing with his ilk. She doubted that at this point she'd get very far by threatening to cut off his tongue and hands, but she knew to be ready to strike as soon as he looked like he was beginning to cast a spell.   
  
She waited for him to try casting a spell, she waited for him to summon some foul aberration borne of his diablerie, she waited for him point at her and laugh. But the man just stood and stared at her from behind a pair of shining spectacles with an expression that unnerved her like few things ever had.  
  
"Who are you?!" she finally shouted, the taut silence unbearable. "I come seeking the necromancer, Lezard Valeth."  
  
He smiled at that, and stepped closer to her. Silmeria saw that he was quite a young man. "I've heard of him. What's your business? Surely one of your stature could find more honorable associates."  
  
She turned her eyes away from him. "I only wish that were an option. But no other can do what I would request of him."  
  
"This certainly sounds intriguing," he said smugly. "Have the gods truly fallen so low that they seek the aid of a necromancer?"  
  
"I've no time to waste speaking with you. Take me to him already or stand aside and let me pass," Silmeria snapped.  
  
"What makes you think Lezard will honor your request?" he asked, still smiling that damnable smile.  
  
"He'd be a fool to deny me. I am a goddess, you know," she replied, trying not to let her irritation show.  
  
"He's killed one more powerful than you."  
  
This time, Silmeria turned back to meet his gaze. "I know. And he's the only one able to bring her back."  
  
He tilted his head, looking as if he was about to laugh. Then he offered her his arm. "Shall we go, lady?"  
  
She knew to stay on guard. This man could be a magician as well. She kept one hand on the hilt of her sword even as she let him take her hand to guide her.  
  
The interior of the tower was dark and bare. The smell of death and ash was everywhere. She couldn't imagine how anyone could live here. Compared to Brahms's castle it was quite plain. How could a living man possibly live in an abode more crypt-like than a vampire king? If he could still be called alive. He had sacrificed his own mortal body and the philosopher's stone in order to take his fate out of the hands of the gods.  
  
Silmeria began to wonder if something was amiss when he led her into a tiny room and a metal grate sealed the doorway. She started when the floor moved under her feet, nearly falling into him. She grimaced, aware of just how clumsy she must seem. At least it was better to look foolish in front of a mere servant rather than in front of the necromancer himself. "Rooms that move. How odd," she said with a slight laugh.   
  
Her guide seemed to bristle at that. "Oh he could teleport anywhere in the castle he wished to, for certain. But he wasn't always so powerful, you know." He stepped uncomfortably close to her. "Are you sure you can't tell me what you want of him?"  
  
"That's between me and the necromancer. It's of no concern to you."  
  
"A private matter, eh?" He smirked. "Just how private, I wonder. Perhaps you've come to seduce him."  
  
She turned away as soon as she felt the blood rise in her cheeks. " That . . . that is preposterous . . . and absolutely indecent! How dare you say such a thing!"  
  
"So a goddess can blush like a maid. How quaint. You needn't be so self-conscious. I'm sure he'd find you beautiful enough, if you were so inclined. On the other hand, he is in love with another, so it's probably best that you don't get your hopes up."  
  
"Get my . . . what?" she stammered, infuriated. "You must be on familiar terms with him to speak of him so."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
"I've heard that he commands the greatest of ancient magicks. His necromancy is equally effective on both gods and men. Do you know if this is true?"  
  
"Without a doubt. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"  
  
". . . Did he really aid the valkyrie Lenneth?"  
  
"More than she ever knew. Everything he did, he did for her sake. His devotion to her is unquestionable. Everything she is, she owes to him. It's just a pity that he was never properly rewarded for his services."  
  
Silmeria fell forward slightly when the elevator jerked to a halt. She followed her guide down a long hall inscribed with runes and sigils on every surface of the walls. "How much longer is it before we get to . . . where are we going?"  
  
"To the laboratory.  Where else would you expect to find a necromancer? He stays down there for weeks at a time, working on new ways to harness his powers. He's quite mad, you know."  
  
She wondered what she would find in a necromancer's laboratory. She entertained fantasies of demonic beast howling in cages, devouring the misshapen bodies of the failed experiments, half-formed larval monsters floating in liquid-filled glass containers, demonic runes and sigils like those she'd seen scribed on every inch of the walls. She wondered what unholy rite she would be interrupting.  She didn't dare ask what the sorcerer's current project might be.   
  
It seemed darker now in the lower halls. There were no windows to let in sun. She shouldn't have come so far. If anything happened to her now, she doubted that she'd even remember her way back. This place was a maze. He could be leading her into a trap. The sorcerer would have plenty of time to prepare. She didn't know if she was ready for another fight. But the die was cast, whatever the outcome might be.  
  
She took a deep breath when her guide told her they'd arrived at the laboratory.  
  
"He'll see you now," he said as he held the door open for her. She stepped in slowly. Broken glass crunched under her feet as she stepped into the room. There was much less unnatural activity than she'd expected. Her hopes sank when she saw the condition of the laboratory. It looked in a terrible state of disrepair. Perhaps he wouldn't even be able to help her with the ritual, even if he was inclined to do so. And if he couldn't, she was most certainly being led into a trap.  
  
Across the room she saw him, the man for whose aid she was willing to ignore his sins and her own.  She was determined not to botch her entrance this time. She strode towards the necromancer with strong steps, carrying her last shreds of dignity around her like a second suit of armor. She stopped before him and stood tall, looking him in the eyes. He was an old man, just as she'd expected. His hair was white and his eyes were mad. They were the eyes of one who'd seen as much of life as he'd cared to and now searched in death for his pleasure. He stood with the aid of a cane. He held a pipe in one hand, its smoke curling towards the ceiling.  
  
"Lezard Valeth, I come to you seeking your aid. Of men and gods, only you have the ability to bring souls back into body. I seek the resurrection of the valkyrie Hrist, who you yourself helped to slay."  
  
Her companion's giggling distracted her. The old man gave her a surprised look and then turned a baleful glare at her companion. This drew her gaze to him as well. "What's the meaning of this? Do you mock me?" she cried.  
  
The old sorcerer spoke in a gruff voice. "Yes, Lezard, what in the nine worlds is going on here?"  
  
Silmeria looked at the old man and then at the young one. She blinked. "You're not Lezard Valeth? You're him?!"  
  
Lezard somehow found words in the midst of his giddiness. "I'm terribly sorry Gandar, but I wanted to ascertain if she was really here to kill me."  
  
The elder man did not seem entertained by the joke.   
  
Neither was Silmeria. "How dare you make a fool of me?"  
  
"You hardly need my help to look like a fool, my dear valkyrie," he said.   
  
"For a moment I thought that Lenneth had come for me. That's a cruel joke to play on an old man, boy. If I was still alive I my heart might have failed." Gandar drew a long puff from his pipe, still glaring at the giggling Lezard, who still seemed quite amused with himself.  
  
Silmeria turned back to the elder sorcerer. He seemed the more sane of the two. "So he's the necromancer Lezard Valeth?" she said, gesturing.  
  
"I know, it's disappointing, isn't it?" he replied.  
  
"Age has really dulled your sense of humor, old man," said Lezard.  
  
"Old? Hmph. You young upstarts don't know the meaning of sorcery anymore. Why, when I was your age we treated the masters with the respect they deserved."  
  
"Yes,yes. And you had to walk fifteen miles uphill both ways to find bodies to use in your experiments. Spare me your tired diatribe."  
  
Silmeria had to shout over their bickering. "If you're Lezard Valeth, than who is this man? Is he your servant?"  
  
"Servant? Servant?!" Gandar shouted, pounding his cane into the floor for emphasis. "You haven't heard of the name Gandar?"  
  
"I . . . haven't been out much," said Silmeria, cowed.   
  
"I was the most powerful sorcerer who ever lived!"  
  
Lezard pointedly cleared his throat.  
  
Gondar continued nonplussed. "I spent my life working for the Villnore military. Armies scattered at the very rumor that I was there to oppose them! In death, I couldn't get away from war. But my final battle with Lenneth was a suitable one to end my military career. I made it through Ragnarock without a single loss.  Now I'm searching for ways to spend a peaceful retirement.  I want nothing more to do with the Aesir, and if I never see another valkyrie, it'll be too soon."  
  
"Betrayer! Who do you think you are?" How could Lenneth have chosen servants who defied the gods in such ways? Was it for his prowess on the battlefield or because of his command of dark magicks? Even so, how could he have deserted her?   
  
He looked at her coldly. "A god."  
  
This was true, of course.  
  
"You'd do well to show a bit more respect to one of the All-Mother's chosen," he continued harshly.   
  
"I am one of the three goddesses of fate!" Silmeria protested.   
  
Lezard spoke. "Were. What claim do you have over the souls of men any more?"  
  
Silmeria turned on him. "You still owe me an answer! I've had enough of this. Will you perform the ritual or not? Or can you?"  
  
Lezard paused thoughtfully, for much longer than Silmeria was comfortable with. "Oh certainly it could be done with the proper equipment. It would take time, of course, to gather the necessary components. And I would have to get a specimen to craft the vessel from. And the ritual may not even be successful if I tried to recreate it. Don't misunderstand, my powers have expanded since I tried it the first time, but the soul in question may have undergone too much degradation to be salvageable. And I truly believe that my lady valkyrie wanted to be saved."  
  
"So you'll try?" she said, incredulous.   
  
"I have no great affection for the dark valkyrie. What makes you think I'd want to see her reborn? And what can you possibly do to reward me for my service?"  
  
"So you won't? I'm sorry I've wasted our time."  
  
"I didn't refuse did I? I do miss my homunculi so. It's quite dreary around the place without them." Lezard smiled. 


	6. The Tree of Knowledge

VI - The Tree of Knowledge

Hanging oneself from the world tree was a bit more problematic than Mystina had originally postulated.  

It was from these very branches that Odin had hung himself for eight days in order to receive the world's knowledge.  She was beginning to wonder if he'd had help tying his knots.  

Attempt after attempt met with the resounding thud of failure.  The rope slipped.  A branch broke.  The ropes weren't distributing her weight properly.  She was starting to consider putting up a hammock and hoping for the best.  But eventually, after many initial false starts and rope burns, she'd finally managed to hang herself upside down from the ankles.

She couldn't feel her feet anymore, but that was a minor issue.  She wasn't one to let a little discomfort stop her from attaining the greatest knowledge of magic, the universe, and everything to be had outside of the Philosopher's Stone.  She thought of her old classmates, colleagues, and teachers, and snickered to herself.  They would be so jealous.  

Here she awaited enlightenment.  The knowledge of the gods.  Her mind spun in anticipation of the secrets of the universe that would be revealed to her.  Naturally, she was quite surprised when someone pushed her from behind, setting her swinging.

"Why Mysty, so nice to see you hanging around."

She recognized the voice. And the lame puns.  "Lezard!"

"Hmph.  You're not very courteous to your old friends anymore.  Valkyrie lets you into Asgard and all of a sudden you're too good to associate with the likes of me.  I'm very hurt."  His upside-down smirk swung in and out of her field of vision. 

"Let me down!"  She snapped as the world dipped and reeled around her.  She felt nauseous, and unsure whether from vertigo or the present company.   "Now that you've broken my concentration I'll have to start all over again!"

Her stomach lurched as her trajectory was intercepted when Lezard caught her around her waist.  Her skin crawled as his hands slid up her legs to undo the knots around her ankles.  After she tumbled ungracefully to the ground, she picked herself up and readjusted her skirt in as dignified a manner as she could muster.  

"Did you always wear bloomers?"

"Shut up!"  Mystina snarled as she spun to face Lezard.  She had known him for most of her life, ever since their first classes at the Flenceburg Academy.  The years had not made him any less of an annoying little shit.  

She decided not to humor him by asking why he'd come.  Lezard predictably ignored her irritation, which only served to increase it.  Everything he did annoyed her, but it was his arrogance that made him truly intolerable.  Mystina could never stand that quality in any but herself.

Some might think it odd that she found his puns and personality more irritating than the fact that he'd killed her.  If anything, the only thing that truly angered Mystina about that incident was that she had Lezard to thank for granting her all the freedoms that the spirit world had to offer. Nor did she have to wrestle with unknowable questions of the purpose of existence and life.  She was an Einherjar, and above such lowly mortal concerns.  Although, she did speculate that Lezard existed only to irk her.  However, he had said that she had been a threat to him.  That was one of the most flattering things she'd ever heard spoken about her.   

Eventually, she couldn't stare at his stupid grin any longer in silence.  "Well?"

He blinked in feigned innocence.  "Well what?"

"What are you doing here?!" she said through clenched teeth.  There were few things that could overcome Mystina's curiosity, and patience was not one of them.    Only the gods and the humans that they chose could walk freely in Asgard.  How could he possibly be here?  Was he truly a god now?  Or had Lenneth had a change of heart about him?   Wouldn't she know better?  This was Lezard, for the love of all things holy.  He was the socially inept geek that got kicked in the hallways and never had dates for the school dances.  Maybe he'd finally learned how to cast a working love spell.  If the day ever came when Lezard Valeth could seduce a goddess, Mystina vowed she would become a goddess of chastity. 

"I thought you'd never ask.  I have a message for my goddess," he said.  "I'd give it to her in person, but this wouldn't be a good time.  I hardly think my presence would be welcome in her court."

So now she was being used to pass on a note like back when they were school kids.  Mystina had to roll her eyes at this.   Some boys never grew up.  "Oh, do you want me ask her friends if she likes you?  And should I ask her if she thinks you're cute?" she sneered.

"Are you jealous, Mysty?"

"Please.  I doubt Valkyrie would want anything to do with you if she had any sense."

"More sense than you?  You're still talking to me."

"You were the one who started talking to me!  And don't think I ever considered you my friend!"

"Ah, it's a pity to see a beautiful relationship torn asunder by time and circumstance.  At least we'll always have our beautiful memories of the storage closet in the alchemy lab."

Mystina had to think about that for a moment.  "That wasn't you!"

"It was very dark in there, wasn't it?  Ah, my sweet, I never imagined you were such a creature of passion to rival any love goddess.  Everything I'd ever seen scribbled on the bathroom walls was true, and more."

"You lying snake!"

He dismissed her with a smirk and a wave of his hand.  "You can believe whatever suits you.  It's no matter to me."  

This time, Mystina was determined to not give the impression of being flustered.  He had to be lying.  And even if he wasn't . . . well, it's not like that made him special or anything.  

There had once been rumors about the two of them.  There always were.  Mystina had always been keenly aware of her reputation.  The other girls looked down on her for talking to him, but she'd recognized his genius.  He was possibly even smarter than she was.  She had even admired him because he never seemed to care what anyone thought of him.  He was possibly the only person she'd met in her entire career at the academy that she'd found genuinely interesting.  The girls in her class were too easily obsessed over silly social nonsense.  None of them operated with any degree of self-awareness.  They were fixated on their place, and doing what was expected of them.  Boys weren't much different, but they had the added amusing quality of being easily manipulated.  For all their academic prowess and pretentious posturing, they were all the same when she wore that certain skirt, or the blouse with the low neckline.  Lorenta had given her numerous upbraidings because of the clothes she wore, the stodgy old hag.  They became her toys to do what she pleased with.  And did she ever have fun.  But it had always been on her terms.  They were nothing but passing interests, to be set aside when something else caught her attention.  Life was too short to spend it with boring people, and everyone bored her eventually.  

She hadn't understood at the time why she tried so hard to save Valkyrie, why she resorted to accepting Lezard's help.  The only one she'd ever considered a friend had been Valkyrie.  But it was better that she'd broken from her service to her.  Valkyrie didn't need her help any more that she needed hers now.  She'd left to pursue her dreams and knowledge, and no mere friendship could ever compete with that.  And at any rate this was water under the bridge.  There was no point in dwelling on it.  

"So what do you want?  I have better things to do than stand here listening to you tease me.  You're being rude, making me wait like this.  What's your point?"  Mystina glared at Lezard.  

"As I stated before you derailed the conversation.  I have a message for my lovely Valkyrie."

"Don't repeat yourself!  I already know that!  Just get to the point and tell me what it is!"  Mystina found herself quickly becoming furious with Lezard.  And furious with herself for letting him push her buttons.  

"I want you to tell her that I haven't forgotten about her."

"And?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is that supposed to be important?  Meaningful?  Worth paying a shred of attention to?  Is it supposed to be a threat?  A proposition?"

"Now you're just being catty, Mysty."

"What makes you think that I plan on even seeing Valkyrie again?  I hadn't planned on going back.  She doesn't need me any more, and she doesn't have anything I need anymore.  And those other people were so dreadfully boring."  

She had to give Lezard credit for one thing: he would never, ever bore her.  Even his delusions of grandeur were amusing.  "And you know, you're an even bigger egomaniac than I thought if you think she's interested in you in the least."

"Are you just upset that you might not be every man's ultimate ideal woman?"

"Piss off."

"Incidentally, do you suppose she'd be interested in acquiring the soul of the Dark Valkyrie?  I've heard the other one is quite interested in it these days."

The sudden change of subject caught Mystina off guard.  "What have you done?  Why would you mess around with that old bitch?"  

She remembered Hrist, the dark valkyrie.  She had taken their Valkyrie's place for a time.  Mystina hadn't really noticed how kind Lenneth had been until Hrist had taken her place.  She actually missed the uptight, honor-bound ice queen.  She had been cold and serious, but she had the decency to treat her and the rest of her Einherjar as more than just pawns in the war of the gods.  Hrist had treated them as her own personal tools.  She expected absolute obedience without doing anything to deserve it.  She was strong and competent.  But hadn't Valkyrie been also?  

There was something about Hrist that made Mystina immediately hate her.  She had been nearly as big of a bitch as Lorenta.  Arngrim seemed none to fond of her, but he shut down when she had touched on the subject.  She had left him alone and not pursued the subject further.  Arngrim was generally not worth speaking to anyway.  He was just an swordsman with limited intellectual faculties, one who deserved nothing better than to be treated as a mere tool of the gods.  

It was when she realized that Valkyrie was actually wrestling with questions of existence that she'd felt a strange sort of kinship for her.  She was curious; she was more than the unfeeling, blindly-devoted death goddess she'd first taken her for.  She wanted to expand her knowledge and understand the workings of the universe, at least so far as they applied to her.  It somehow warmed her to think that Valkyrie had been a victim of the gods who cruelly kept knowledge all to themselves, just any common dweller in Midgard.  And to think she might know more than the Valkyrie.  That was an interesting concept.  

Something about what Lezard had said struck her as off.  The other one?  "Lezard, what other one?"

"The third and youngest goddess of destiny, Silmeria."

"But how can that be?  Brahms destroyed Hrist when she tried to free her."

"WE destroyed Hrist.  He's released Silmeria from her bondage."

"That was stupid of him.  He could have used her as a pawn if he wanted to move against Valkyrie."  

"I very much doubt how much Valkyrie actually cares for her old companions.  It seems that they would be much more of a hindrance to her now.  And from what I understand Silmeria was practically useless as a servant anyhow.  Why Hrist would waste her time trying to get her back is beyond me."

"Unless they were just trying to save face.  Gods tend not to like it when uppity Midgard-dwellers think they can do what they like with them."  She gave Lezard a pointed look.  

"I would never have let such a treasure out of my grasp, but oh well."

"You can't treat the gods like dolls, Lezard."

"Why, Mysty, I thought I'd never be honored with your beneficent words of wisdom.  And who was it that became an Einherjar just to learn the secrets of the gods?  At least I have reliable sources."

"I still have a hard time imagining you sacrificing the philosopher's stone."

"You would never understand why one might prefer their own life to infinite knowledge."

She did not refute him.  

"A new world order is arising.  Only some of us are able to see it for the golden opportunity that it is.  I suppose you're not interested in such petty matters."  He leaned nonchalantly against the gnarled trunk of the world tree.  The branches cast eerie shadows across his face.  

"Ooh, is that your 'scheming face' I'm seeing?  Surely the great and terrible necromancer is above seeking allies with little old me.  On the other hand, I was valedictorian, you know."  They had been fierce rivals for as long as they'd been in the academy, constantly trying to show each other up to see who was at the top of the class.  In the end she'd won, but only because he had been expelled.  The school had kept secret the exact nature of the experiment that had gotten him booted out, but she had never bothered to ask.  It was old dirt, and very few things surprised her anymore.  "What happened, Lezard?  Why the sudden interest in Hrist?"

"Hel's minions are on Midgard.  I believe she's after the remaining soul shards of the dark valkyrie."

"And you can't be bothered to deal with them, so you're hoping that I might if you peaked my curiosity, right?"

"Hmph."

"You're bad at this, Lezard.  If you want to manipulate people to your whim, you should probably start with someone stupid who doesn't know you well, and work up from there."

"I never claimed to be a Loki."

"He was better looking than you anyway."  Lezard was many things, but never a good judge of character.  He just didn't deal well with others.  He would never be as good as she was at manipulating men, but he probably wouldn't want to be either.  She could when she had a mind to, but most often she found that people weren't worth bothering with.  

"And now I suppose you'll say it doesn't matter if I help you or not."

"Well . . . yes, actually."

"Hmph."

"Don't look so smug.  Do you think you were my first choice?"

Mystina was insulted, and he knew it.  She positively radiated indignance.  "Perhaps you've got some lovely young waif deluded into helping you?  I guess I'm just too old for your tastes now."

"Now Mysty.  You're completely one hundred eighty degrees from correct."  

"What?"

"I already have one sorcerer aiding me in my current endeavors, who is most assuredly neither young nor lovely.  You have three guesses."

"I hate you."

"I thought he could be useful.  And it is the least I could do.  I consider it an act of charity.  He is my father, you know."

There had been rumors back at the academy.  That Lezard was the son of the infamous wizard Gandor.  He never talked about it.  Perhaps he might not have been aware of it himself.  Mystina had thought it all nonsense.  Gandar was a battle mage of Villnore, and there had been very public disagreements between Villnore's policies on magic and the academy's.  Even so, it was still the best and most advanced school in the world.  The only place, some would say, for a prodigy like Lezard.  After all, everyone knows that home-schooled children can grow up to be poorly socialized.  

Or maybe Lezard had come to Flenceburg because his mother didn't want him to turn out like his father.  Poor woman.  He was so much worse than Gandar ever was.  

She had wondered what kind of people could create such a freak as Lezard.  It was said that Lady Valeth never went out of her tower.  Some said that her husband had kept her captive there.  Some said she was insane.  Some said that she was a powerful sorceress herself.  Some said that she was cursed by the gods, or a god herself.  Some said that she had killed herself.  Some said that Lezard had killed her.  Some said that her body was still in the tower somewhere, another subject of Lezard's abominable experiments.  Some say he'd hidden her body somewhere else.  But these were just idle rumors.  However, as much as she'd deny it, Mystina had a keen ear for that sort of talk.  Rumors were generally so much more interesting than the dull reality of life.  

"Lezard, what _are _you up to these days?"

He smiled.  "Treating goddesses like dolls, of course."

"You're doing something with Hrist, aren't you?"  She recalled that when he'd sealed Valkyrie's soul into the homunculus vessel, he had needed her assistance with the ritual.  Was he planning on doing the same thing to the Dark Valkyrie?  "What would you stand to gain?"

"Surely one goddess is as good as another.  If Valkyrie won't have me, I'll just have to find a reasonable facsimile."

"And you got Gandar to go along with this?"

"He's already on his way to Alfheim to obtain an elf to craft the vessel from."

"This is insane."  As soon as she uttered it, she realized that it was self-evident.

"Well, yes and no.  It wasn't really even my idea.  "Slimeria, the Valkyrie of Dawn, had commissioned me to craft a vessel to contain Hrist's soul."

"She must be desperate.  And I don't even want to know what she promised to do for you in return."

"Aren't we the bawdy little minx?  Does it seem so impossible that I would help someone out of the goodness of my heart?"

"Riiiiight.  You're afraid to anger Brahms by angering her if you refuse, aren't you?"

"I am not the least concerned with that bloodsucking fossil.  Anyone who would resort to such a distasteful method of gaining immortality has no sense _or_ style.  There are plenty of better ways.  I care nothing about Brahms or Beliza or any of those wretched nightwalkers.  They're no better than demons."

"Then why are you scared of him?"

"What on earth gave you that impression, Mysty?"

"I can still read you like a book, Lezard.  But don't worry, I wouldn't think of missing out on whatever it is you're scheming.  But in my own time.  I have things to take care of first."

"Very well.  I suppose our business is concluded.  I'll leave you to your silly tree-hugging."

"I have a favor to ask before you go."

"Mm?"

"Would you tie me up?"

"Why Mysty, and to think you accused me of having scandalous fetishes."


End file.
